


Questions.

by MakaII



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: And I don't know much about the star wars world, F/M, Gen, Helmets and made up tech, I have no idea where I'm going with this, i'm certain of it, mandalorian culture includes sarcasm, this ended up having a lot more plot that it should have done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22129957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakaII/pseuds/MakaII
Summary: Nothing is quite as it seems, from the shadow hanging over a small town on a dying planet, to Moff Gideon’s apparent demise.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. The Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a mess. I will edit it at some point, but if you can make it through the mess, there is an explanation to the nonsensicalness later on!

“Whosoever delights in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.”

-Aristotle

Sludge. Odorless-ish. Color nondescript. Undissolved shuddered in synchronization with the ship’s vibrations.

The sell-by on dehydrated packaging was for legal sale only, the stuff never spoilt. Plus, this stuff was, contents wise, very healthy. Just looked disgusting

Didn’t get better with age either, though.

Green nostrils expanded. Contracted. Eyes were raised, ears lowered

“Don’t look at me like that.” The bowl was pushed closer to the child, across the pullout table on the lower deck of the Razor Crest. “Eat it.”

Small green clawed fingers pushed the bowl away. Not to the side and off the edge, as misbehaving children tended to act, but towards his guardian.

“I eat later.” Said the Mandalorian, in a softer tone, as he slid the bowl back in front of the child, “You eat now.

The goo was immediately pushed back in his direction. “Okay, fine.” He sighed, picked up the offending bowl and spoon that lay on the side of the table. He made his way to the sleeping area, punching the controls so that it shut three quarters of the way. It was...Stupid. He knew that, in keeping with the creed, he was legitimately allowed to remove his helmet in front of his foundling.

He’d tried, but it just felt too strange. So he’d resolved to just not be _too_ careful, the kid was bound to walk into in on his own sometime.

“I’ll have a bite. Then you’re eating it.”

He considered just pretending to partake, but considering the size of the kid’s ears, he’d probably know if Mando didn’t at least remove the helmet and tap the spoon against the bowl, at which point he may as well have a bite.

So it didn’t just _look_ disgusting. It was all they had left, right now, though.

“Okay, you have a point,” Mando conceded, retuning to the table “ _But_ ,” He jabbed a finger in the child’s direction, “I have seen you eat a live toad.”

Green ears went back down accompanied by a grumbling cooing sound. The Mandalorian pushed the sludge back in front of the kid, sitting back in the chair opposite, arms crossed.

“Look at me all you want. This is all we have for now,” He slipped a cartridge out of his belt and dropped it onto the table in front of the kid, “Unless you want to eat ammunition.”

The kid stared at him, Mando belatedly realized this had been seen, and accepted, as a challenge.

“Hey, no! Spit that out!”

It took a few, tense, seconds of wrestling before he got his cartridge back, damn that kid had a strong set of jaws.

Okay.

They needed to resupply sooner than planed, then. The Mandalorian had made his calculations based solely on quantity, not taste…

He threw a sideways glance at the kid, a fussy eater now, “I’ll find somewhere to Re-Up.”

The gurgles he got in response could have passed for triumphant laughter. They weren’t. But they could have been understood as such. For the sake of his sanity, Mando decided to go with ‘random, unintelligible babbling unrelated to current situation’.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” He cautioned the child as he made for the ladder, “We’re not going anywhere fancy.”

He was halfway up when he remembered to add, “Stay down here.” He paused again at the top, “And eat your food.”

The child didn’t stay.

* * *

It wasn’t exactly a hospitable place. It wasn’t inhospitable either. It just _was._

Farda had been a busy little trade-hub, well _still was_ according to his ship’s data base. He really needed to update that. Whatever had happened subsequently had served as a death sentence, only one cruiser stopping by every six months.

For once, having an older ship worked to his advantage, they were all out of the more recent combustible blends, but he’d be able to re-up here without a problem, not that the ‘Crest was that fussy. The engine could run on pretty much anything for a short burst, provided it was thoroughly cleaned out after. Got him out of a fair share trouble over time.

The only operational canteen in the village was quiet, much like the streets he’d passed by on the way. Clearly anyone who was able to had left this place a while ago.

A redheaded, slightly passed middle aged, woman, either the owner or an employee took his order, which boiled down to whatever she thought a child would be willing to eat without making a fuss. He took a booth out of the way of the two other customers: a young man, mid-twenties, stubble and wavy, dark blond hair, and a Twi’lek woman who was propped up against the counter nursing a drink.

The lights flickered a few times, going out fully for a few seconds as the woman brought the kid a plate at the table.

“Damn’ witch, at it again!” She mumbled distractedly, as she took his payment.

“Oh, bloody hell,” The young man by the door exclaimed under his breath, he stood up, empty glass in hand, “Will you _stop_ that? There’s no bloody witch. It’s a storm!”

“What’d’you know? I’ve seen _it!”_ The woman shot back.

The Twi’lek yawned, “Here we go again.”

The man headed towards the counter, but stopped dead in his tracks as if spotting the Mandalorian and child for the first time.

“You, you’ve been places right? Ever seen a bloody witch?

“No.” Mando answered, having no intention of further getting involved in this debate.

“There you go!” The young man threw his arms in the air triumphantly, looking at the woman behind the counter busying herself putting away clean glassware.

“Say what y’want, Arno. There’s somethin’ livin’ up in that mountain. Can’t deny that, you see the lights too.”

Arno let out an annoyed huff, “So there’s a cracked hermit living in the rocks. _Not_ a _witch.”_

“Nothin’ can get up there in the dark, too dangerous, there’s no path. Nothing can live up there, with the lightnin’ striking up every storm.” The woman retorted. “And I _saw_ it. Glowin’ eyes an’ a hunched up back, saw it crawl right up that hillside. ‘N ever since, the lighting always strikes in the same place. How’d you explain that away?

“Not. A. Witch.”

“Says you.”

The kid was done eating, Mando was only too happy to call it a day and head back to the ship.

“Is there anywhere I can pick up food supplies?” He asked the redhead.

“Yeah, second house on the left as you come from the fields, got an orange door.”

He nodded and made to leave.

“Hold on, hold on!” Arno called out, “How about we find out, once and for all. I’m sure you can do that, right?”

“No interested,” The Mandalorian replied, picking the kid up for good measure. Seemed to have a knack for pulling the his disappearing act with the worst timing possible in mind.

“I can pay you.”

“Can you? Then why haven’t you paid me yet?” The woman piped up, hands on her hips.

“Or me,” The Twi’lek added.

“Oh, come on love, that’s hurtful,” Arno said to the Twi’lek with a wink. She was not impressed, he returned his attention to the Mandalorian who was already outside the building.

Arno trotted along behind, “Hold on!” There was no reaction, “Please can you just hear me out?”

The Mandalorian sighed, and slowed his pace, Arno took that as a sign that he at least had his attention.

“Okay, look, I really, really, really want to leave this place, move on, have a life you know? The old bat in there, well she’s wrong but not entirely, there some weird stuff going on. I have people I care about here, that’s why I can’t leave, not until this is cleared up...”

“I mean I could never forgive myself if I left only for the shit to hit the fan, you know? With me being just fine somewhere on the other side of the galaxy.”

“It’s stupid I know, it’s probably nothing.” Arno continued, hoping he was at least being listened to, if not acknowledged.

Yeah probably nothing. Mando had noticed the navigation on the ‘Crest had gone haywire when flying over the rocky outcrop that was supposedly occupied, but there were plenty of scientifically sound reasons for that to be unrelated.

Thunder crashed loudly overhead, as a streak of lighting flew across the sky, headed straight for the mountain. Mando expected the kid to be scared. He wasn’t, rather giggled and held his hands up towards the light as if to catch it.

“I can pay you, that much was true.” Arno added as a last ditch attempt. The Mandalorian stopped.

“How much?”

“Everything I’ve got.”

“I’ll think about it.” It was as positive an answer Arno was going to get, he made sure to give proper thanks before taking his leave.

The Mandalorian felt sorry for Arno, if only fleetingly. If only because he could relate, horrifically, to finding out your ‘family’ had been wiped out while you were away, by something you should have known was coming.

But what was this? Probably just some species unknown to these people. Potentially breeding exponentially while preparing a hostile take over? Yeah, not so good. He hadn’t seen a weapon since he got here, so they’d have very little chance of standing their ground.

He could go up there, have a quick look, deal with whatever it was as necessary and be back before dinner. It could work. What about the kid though? Bring him along, no choice, he didn’t really trust anyone here.

He stopped outside the Razor Crest, turning to face the mountain as the lighting struck it again. The child gurgled.

“What? You know what’s up there?”

He felt the little clawed fingers scratch against the signet on his pauldron.

“Doubt if it’s a mudhorn, kid.”

* * *

His first job of the morning was to pull together a complete re-up of their supplies.

Always be ready for a quick get away. Once again the thought of leaving the kid on board brushed his mind, would make things a lot easier. Until he got back down and found the kid halfway across the other side of the planet.

Nope.

He would never admit it, not even to himself, but that reconverted IG unit _was_ handy. He could’ve left th kid with it, could’ve left it to deal with the kid’s food requests, plus it didn’t require sleep, bath or food so would only minimally clutter an already cramped living space.

Problem was, he was pretty sure he’d never fully trust one until it gave up it’s life to save him. Defeated the purpose of acquiring one, really.

He’d started early, in order to get everything done before anyone had a chance for further interaction with him. A good plan, he was only just finished putting things away when Arno showed up outside the ship’s ramp.

“Greetings! Had a chance to think about my offer yet?”

The Mandalorian stepped off the ship, Arno, to punctuate his earlier words, handed him a heavy purse of credits.

Mando was surprised, not pleasantly either. The man was rather scruffy looking, supposedly stuck on a dying outer-rim planet. This much currency was highly suspect.

Arno only clocked a brief nod on the Mandalorian’s part. Payment was accepted. Done deal.

“When are we leaving then?” Asked Arno.

“We?” Mando tilted his head to one side, “It’ll be quicker if I go alone.”

“Nah, I got to be there,” Insisted Arno, “Need to see what this thing is first hand.” He could tell the Mandalorian was going to respond negatively so he quickly added, “I can fire a gun, actually would like to kill this thing myself if I get the chance.”

“This isn’t an assassination, it’s a recon.” Mando’s tone was harsh, “Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Arno grinned, “Means I can come, though, right?”

A curt nod from the Mandalorian had Arno grinning wider still, “When are we leaving?”

“Five minutes.”

* * *

The parts of the trail that hadn’t succumbed to the beating of the weather were few and far between. Even those were treacherous, often falling away in slabs which, gathering up speed, became a deadly projectile to anything unfortunate enough to be below.

Arno was a fairly good climber, claiming he’d spent a fair bit of time practicing here for lack of anything else to do. Mando was past believing a word the man said, but didn’t call him on anything either.

He had warned Arno he was on his own if he fell, Mando had the kid to deal with, strapped to his front with a couple of modified rifle slings, he’d also equipped the jetpack, in case he was unable to regain proper traction on the brittle slate stone of the mountain wall.

About halfway up the track became more practicable, bother of them being able to walk instead of scramble.

“Want me to carry the kid for a bit? Must be feeling pretty heavy by now.” Arno offered, and while the Mandalorian had no intention of accepting, even if the offer had been issued by someone he actually trusted, this didn’t sound like it was coming from the heart.

Something in the man’s tone had changed. It was so subtle, just a tad more confident, more condescending. Best guess, the messy babbling character was fiction, the real one had a purpose, and was now confident he was going to achieve it.

The track ran out leaving two options: void or smooth wall.

“I brought a secure line, just in case,” Said Arno, pulling a round, flat black tube out of his jacket pocket, “You can fly up there, thrown me a line down, right?”

If Mando ever had any doubt the whole thing was planned, he didn’t anymore. He nodded, disguising a full weapons functionality check as protocol for activating the jet pack.

The first practicable point of the mountain on the accent was a wide ledge, about three quarters of the way up, an overhang sheltered half of the surface, shading the narrow slit of an entrance in the corner.

Mando checked for life signs as Arno made his way up the line he’d thrown down, having secure it around a rocky outcrop. He couldn’t pick up any life signs, not through the thick walls, but there was a fresh set of tracks by the entrance. Humanoid tracks.

That was something. “Told you, no mudhorns.”

The child pawed the air in direction of the entrance, fussing to be let down. “Not a chance, not with that cliff.”

“What’s that?” Asked Arno, as he finally cleared the ledge.

“Found the door,” Mando nodded in the relevant direction.

“After you, Mandalorian.”

Mando took the time set his helmet light up, checking the entry point once more. It was narrow, too narrow for him to make a decent turn should he have to draw on the man behind him. He drew his blaster before walking in.

Thankfully the tunnel opened out almost immediately, the access had been carved out artificially to join up with a natural crevasse, dug out by years of running water. It was safe enough to let the kid down now, kept in the corner of his eye.

The puddles underfoot were a huge bonus, he could pay attention what was in front of him and rely on the splashing sounds behind him for any sign of foul play.

The tunnel continued straight on, while an artificial excavation veered off to the right, he followed it.

Panning out into a cave with a low ceiling, wires ran from various cracks in the rock, joining up in the far center of the room, in front of a kneeling figure. He barely had time to clock the cave’s resident before they turned, blaster drawn. Instinct had him mirror the gesture and raise his own.

The cave dweller didn’t fire, and neither did he, now that they’d turned he could see the helmet. There was blue glow behind the ‘T’ shaped visor.

Mandalorian.

He’d heard stories, back from old times, where many a friendship had been established between two Mandalorians essentially hired to kill each other. There had been even more grudges so established.

He wouldn’t shoot first, not unless he had to.

“Not going to kill each other then? That’s disappointing.” Arno’s voice had Mando internally curse himself.

He’d been so surprised he’d let the other man’s presence slip his mind, if only for a second, the other Mandalorian had clearly also overlooked such a banal looking character.

Mando turned his blaster against the man he’d been escorting, hearing the words “Too late.” Before his vision turned a burning white.

His eyes shut on reflex, barely diminishing the burn. His hearing had gone too, or the world had gone silent. No not silent, he realized, as the pain and pressure in his head increased, he felt hot liquid running down the sides of his neck. Blood.

Ultrasounds. He could adjust the helmet to enhance the more subtle sounds. This, whatever this was, had turned the mod up to full pelt.

The helmet. Arno must have a device to turn it against him.

The helmet was killing him.

He had only registered a vague pinch on his arm, like three little needles digging into his skin. He should’ve known what it was, but his brain was unable to make any logical connection over the onslaught of internal and external pain.


	2. One step forward, two steps back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandalorian socialization? Yeah, it's as awkward as it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write, I hope it's fun to read, too.

The pain began to subside. His eyes opened, his vision was blurry, eyes still burning from the invisible heat. He couldn’t feel much of anything, but he was pretty sure the bleeding from his ears and nose had stopped.

That was something.

As his brain started ticking over normally, his first reaction was to reach for his blaster. Not there.

Right, he’d had it drawn already. He moved around, at some point he must have dropped to his knees.

_The kid._

He forced his eyes open despite the pain, just in time to see the kid totter backwards, his raised right hand falling to his side. Mando caught him and sat him down as gently as he could with still shaky hands. Arno was on the ground next to him, motionless, both hands held about his throat. 

He looked from the kid to Arno.

No.  Not this. Not again.

The kid was way too young to have to kill anyone  with intent, even if it was motivated by a protective instinct, he never should have been put in that position. 

Mando felt sick as he pulled himself onto shaky legs, unsure if it was the guilt or the narrowly avoided frying of his brain. His visor  was  randomly setting off different visual modes every ten to twenty seconds.  Great, the last thing he needed right now was emergency maintenance.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the puddle of blood surrounding the man’s neck, the nick was only slight, on the left side. A messy, lucky, shot at best, but this wasn’t the time for criticizing technique.  The blue tinted  face  suggested the kid had already done half the work. The Mandalorian couldn’t help but cringe, ever so slightly. 

“Here.” 

He almost jumped at the female voice, almost. He turned slowly, she held out his blaster, handle first, he took it with a nod. 

With that peace offering made she walked past him to take a closer look at the corpse, moving the bloodied hands  aside and pulling out a small rectangular controller. She dropped it to the floor and crushed it. 

That was what caused his armor to turn against him, then. 

“You should go.” She said, turning to face him, “He may have come alone to get the credit, but reinforcements won’t be far.” 

N ot good enough, “Why-” His mouth horribly dry, throat felt like he hadn’t had a drink in days, “Why was he after you, who is he?” 

She shrugged, “Don’t know him personally. Best guess, a bounty hunter hired by Imperial remnants.” 

Mando tilted his head slightly. Still not good enough. 

“I’m looking for-...” She stopped herself, thinking over her next words, “Clues.” She gestured to the small box connected to the coiling wires behind her, “Scanning chatter. I thought no one would notice, and if they did, they wouldn’t find me...Here.” 

“You picked up something you shouldn’t have.” He said, understanding.

“That’s my best guess. I haven’t had time to decrypt anything yet.” She agreed. 

“You can’t stay here.” He picked the child up. 

“I have nowhere else to go, nor any means of getting there.” 

“I have a ship-” 

She shook her head, “You have a foundling.  They’ll come after me.” 

“Yeah,” He acknowledged, “They’re after him, too.” He nodded to the sleeping child in his arms. 

“Very well, I’ll accept a lift.” She went over to the small, glowing box, carefully removing the cables one by one before picking it up. “There’s another exit, leads to an easier path down.” 

I t was hard work trying to reconcile all the information he’d gained  while descend ing a steep hillside, carrying a sleeping child whilst wearing a faulty helmet. 

His vision would flit from one mode to another with no warning. Some were only mildly bothersome, others were completely unsuited to his current activity, which was not falling arse over beskar into a pile of sharp rocks. 

He dodged just in time as a rock flew past his arm from behind, following a slipping sound. 

“Sorry, technical issues.” Was said between a couple of more heartfelt curses. 

“You and me both.” He said with a sigh, “How did you manage to shoot him?” 

T he pain had been debilitating, coming from Mando that was saying a lot. 

“I took my helmet off,” She said, offhand.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at her, or rather her heat signature as his visor’s visuals continued to scramble. 

He wasn’t sure what to go with. Not everyone had the same way. That wasn’t his problem...

Why the hell was she still wearing it if it was giving her grief, if she could just take it off and get on with her life. 

And, worst still, if that was what she pulled on a clear shot, six feet away, she shouldn’t be wearing the damn helmet in the first place. 

A fraud. It wasn’t uncommon, picking up Mandalorian armor and  masquerading as the real thing to benefit from a guaranteed reputation they had no right to. That didn’t sit so well. 

“You’re a terrible shot.” 

“I’ve never known anyone who could look that judgmental without needing a face.” She shot back. 

“Years of practice,” His tone betrayed his edge, he took advantage of a lapse in his visor’s playing up to look a little closer. A goodly amount of her armor was Beskar painted black with golden lines along the ridges. “Did you buy the kit, or steal it?” 

H e could see the scratch marks on the pauldron where a signet must’ve been sheered off. Did she really think she could fool him, too? 

The anger he was feeling was reciprocated, as they both reached for their blasters at the same time, he was quicker, maneuvering himself so that his armor would shield the child he carried with his left arm. 

No time for hesitation, if his helmet started playing up again he wouldn’t have the same accuracy. Clearly the woman was thinking along the same lines. 

The Mandalorian fired first, his time lost readjusting his position to shield the child gave the woman enough time to avoid getting shot right through the throat, instead the blast caught part of her pauldron and burnt through the fabric and skin of her upper arm. 

The return shot was simultaneous, hitting Mando’s Vambrace, singing the palm of his hand beneath his gloves, his blaster dropped from his grip. 

They stared at each other for a few seconds, theoretically, she had him, but she had yet to fire. 

“Without the foundling, you would be dead.” She said finally, re-holstering her weapon. 

“Yeah? So would you.” He _was_ at a disadvantage. There would only have been on shot if he hadn’t had the kid to protect. 

“Gar akaanir sol'yc” She crossed her arms. 

He lowered his head slightly. So she was legitimate. She was also right: he started it. 

Recent events had tipped the scales between sensible caution and borderline paranoia.  He slowly lowered himself forwards to retrieve his blaster from the ground. 

“I thought-” 

“I know.” She cut him off with a sigh, “Go on to your ship, do whatever it is you need to do.” 

“No,” He took a deep breath, “I’m not- I can’t just leave you here. They’ll come for you and..And you’re injured.” 

“I know. You shot me.” 

Yeah, he had. Had he apologized? Maybe he should, he vaguely recalled Greef Carga ranting on about women always wanting an apology even when no offense had been committed. Doubtful. If she was still angry about it she would more than likely have shot him. 

He hoped, for Carga never got involved with a Mandalorian.  He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, “I have a decent med kit on the ship...It’s the least I can do.” 

S he shook her head, “I’ll be fine, that bounty hunter had to have a ship stashed away somewhere. I can track it down.” She tapped the bag, slung across her shoulders, containing the cube like device, “Shame to let it go to waste.” 

He knew when he was fighting a losing battle, “If you’re sure.” 

“I am.” 

M ando allowed himself to sigh out loud as he dropped into the pilot’s seat of the ‘Crest. He turned his head to glance over at the kid sleeping in the co-pilot’s chair. 

This could never happen again. None of it. Not the child almost killing someone for his sake, not him nearly getting himself killed because he had the kid with him. He needed a solution, and fast. 

And preferably not a droid. 

He turned to the sleeping child again, “If only I could convince you to stay put.” 

The take off sequence was initiated, the Razor Crest slowly dragging itself off the ground, the light rumbling as the landing gear retracted followed by a dull thug as the slots shut behind it.  He gave the kid another glance, to check he was wedge in suitably to avoid a fall when they started moving up and out of atmo. Instead he spotted  a platoon of troopers headed up the path he’d just left. 

M ando still suffered from the occasional visor glitch. He doubted the other one was doing much better. 

He could hardly justify flying off, knowingly leaving  one of his own to fend for themselves. 

This is the way. 

He sighed and pushed the ship into action, unfortunately he’d have to circle around the mountain to reach them, the overhangs on his side being far too hazardous to hover-by. Especially since he had no shields in-atmo. 

The fire fight had already started by the time he got on site, the woman had taken cover behind the rocky outcrop, slowly picking off the troopers below. The onslaught of enemy fire forced her to keep her head down most of the time, meanwhile they crept closer. 

She looked up upon hearing the ship near, as did the troopers, a good enough diversion for her to neutralize a couple more. 

Mando had deployed the landing gear, but soon realized landing wasn’t a viable option,  he didn’t have a clear enough space , instead he calculated the distance between the Crest and the ground to just under the standard length of a Mandalorian grappling line  and went to the lower deck. 

He opened the hatch, Amban rifle in hand. Nothing like a couple of quick disintegrations to cause chaos and panic in enemy ranks.

“You’re stubborn.” She shouted up at him. 

“Are you coming, or not?” He shouted back, before retreating back a couple of steps to avoid the enemy fire. They’d got over the shock now. He’d imagined as much, he swapped the rifle for a grenade launcher.

Just one, he was running too low on the heavier hitting weaponry.

They exchange a nod when he reappeared with his change of weapon, he fired at the Stormtroopers, she caught the landing gear of the crest with her grappling line. 

The enemy fire had started again by the time she’d got to her feet on the landing skids, she caught Mando’s extended hand and was pulled up into the ship. 

As the hatch closed Mando spotted a heavily armored crawler making it’s way up the path, breaking or crushing anything in it’s way.  He needed to get the ship out here, quickly. Trooper pistols weren’t making a dent. That would blow a hole through the hull if it hit. 

H e almost went head long into the pilot’s seat, the first blast clipped the ship as he reached the cockpit. He ignored the alarms and flashing lights. He couldn’t afford a second blast.  A quick acceleration with spin made sure it didn’t come to that. 

H e ran a quick systems check at high altitude, to make sure the hull would hold during the transition into space. Good news it would. Bad news, his landing skids were completely unresponsive. 

There was no fixing it, he’d have to leave them out and hope parts of them were still attached when he reached his destination.  Destination. Right. 

He didn’t feel like testing the waters right now, he needed to fix his ship, probably some of the circuitry in his helmet. He needed to do that in a safe place, he needed the kid to be in a safe place while he worked on that. 

Sorgan then.  He really didn’t want to have to resort to that. Returning there...It made him feels things he didn’t want to feel, question things he shouldn’t question. 

“You’re sure we can handle hyper-space in this state?” He had no idea when she’d got up here, and made mental note to be a lot more aware of his silent passenger in future. 

“I’ve done worse.” It was true, he had. This was nothing. 

“You ever go through engineering?” She asked. 

“No.” 

“Ah, that explains it.” 

H e decided to ignore the sarcasm, she continued, “You should clean up and rest.” 

“I’m fine,” He muttered, briefly glancing over at his passenger. Looked like she’d already taken the time to help herself to his med kit, a bandage peaked out from under the rip in her clothes. 

“Why don’t you just ask?” She crossed her arms, leaning against the console.

“Ask what?” 

“I don’t know. Whatever it is that’s bothering you.” She shrugged. 

“The mark,” He nodded to her shoulder, “You removed a signet.” 

“My clan is no more.” Her answer was neutral, overly so. 

“You’re still here.” He countered. 

“It happened before I could be sworn in.” She lowered her head, “I cannot claim a legacy I have neither earned nor protected.” 

“You finish your training?” 

“Pretty much...I was delayed, but most of it was validated.” She raised her head, looking him square in the visor, “Anything else?” 

“Yeah,” There was one last part he didn’t understand, “If you haven’t been sworn in, why not remove a malfunctioning helmet?” 

“Oh, that. You thought it was a play earlier, right?” She asked, he nodded, “I was injured as a child, lost my sight. The fix for it only works with the helmet.” 

H e  nodded and got to his feet, “Can you..?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got this,” She said, moving aside to let him through before taking up his seat, “Kind of nice, my grand-father had one of these.” 

H e couldn’t tell if it was meant to be sarcastic or not. He was also too tired to care. 

* * *

He remembered thinking he’d sit down on the cot for five minutes, having washed the dried blood off his face and neck. He had no recollection of having fallen asleep. 

He spotted the green forests of Sorgan upon entering the cockpit, his first check was the kid, who should have been in the copilot’s chair but was not. He felt a brief lurch in stomach, before the pilot’s chair swiveled ‘round to face him. 

“Oh, good you’re up. Know a good spot to land or maybe crash with what’s left of the skids?” The kid was happily sitting in the woman’s lap. He reached out towards Mando as soon as he spotted him. 

“I’ll deal with this.” 

She was more than happy give over control of the ship, she’d  scanned the planet twice finding no suitable docking facilities in which to repair the ship. Must be cloaked. 

Yeah, that had to be it she thought, as the ship started it’s descent over a small settlement of thatched roofs. She was very confused when Mando activated the landing protocol over a clearing just in sight of said village. 

Having checked his surroundings, Mando let the kid loose in the clearing. He turned his attention to his traveling companion who was currently turning on herself, turned to face him arms dropping to her sides.

“Problem?” He asked, unable to keep all the amusement from his voice. 

“You want to fix this,” She gestured to the stumps where the skids used to be, halfway down into the ground with nothing to spread the weight, “Here?” 

“I’ve done worse.” 

She stared at him in disbelieving silence. He turned tail and headed to the village, calling out for the kid to follow, his attention having been captivated by a large dung bettle. 

“If you eat that, you’re going back on sludge.” 

After a few minutes she caught up,  he glanced over his shoulder, “You’re probably going to need to give them a name.” 

S he didn’t sound pleased, “Why?” 

“I have dibs on ‘Mando’.” 

“Like hell you do,” She taped the pauldron carrying his signet, “You _have_ a name. I don’t.” 

“It’s- It’s just me and him,” He looked over to the child toddling along at his side.

“Yeah, good for you,” She said, a little harshly. She shook her head, “All the more reason to throw that name around. No ones going to write songs of your adventures if you don’t.” 

“I don’t want songs.” He sighed.

“Tough. Now, let’s have the name of the clan that will make the enemies of Mandalore wet themselves.” 

H e couldn’t help but roll his eyes, he also couldn’t help but smile, just a little. 

“Djarin.” It still felt foreign to say. Foreign to hear. She was right though, he’d have to come to terms with it. If not for him, then for the kid, in case, just in case, he ended up staying. 

“Looks like we’ve got a welcoming party,” She nodded over to the village, which had been roused by the sound of the Razor Crest flying so close over head. 

He recognized Winta, Omera’s daughter, running ahead, making a beeline for the child  while shouting “They’re back! They’re back!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have been put off by the lack of names exchanged (it's awkward to write too) but I'm trying to keep within the bounds of what the show gives us in the way of Mandalorian culture (and making a load of stuff up, 'course).  
> Hopefully this wasn't too jarring to read.


	3. Sorgan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slower chapter, probably the penultimate.

There was that awkward moment where everyone was please to see Mando and wasn’t really sure how to express it. Omera almost forgot herself enough to go in for a hug but quickly got herself under control, stopping three feet short of the Mandalorian and giving him a nod and a friendly smile instead.

He returned the nod, she hoped he returned the smile, too.

Omera did her best not to stare too much at the other newcomer, her curiosity getting the best of her most of the time. She waited in vain for Mando to do the decent thing a make a formal introduction.

Unsurprisingly, he failed to do so.

Omera was about to initiate, but the other Mandalorian spoke first.

“Do you have any droids?”

Omera, a little taken aback, tried not to let it show as she answered, “Just one, carrier-cart.”

“Not powerful enough to jack the ship, then.”

“We’ll use the tarps, pull it up using the trees.” Said Mando, using droids to assist in repairs never entered the realm of possibility as far as he was concerned

“Will you be making wooden skids, too?”

“There’s a disabled AT-ST,” Mando pointed to what looked like a pile of old netting and broken baskets, “Over there.”

“How the hell did an AT-ST get _here?_ ” She asked, wondering if the whole thing wasn’t an elaborate hoax. She doubted Djarin was the pranking type.

“Didn’t ask. ”

“Fair enough,” With that the other Mandalorian left to investigate the supposed AT-ST suspiciously dumped in the middle of nowhere.

Mando wasn’t one for idle chatter, Omera knew that, apparantly his new friend shared that trait.

Didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try and get some damn context anyway.

“How have you been?”

Half a dozen near death experiences, his tribe almost completely wiped out, and no idea where he was actually supposed to go from here.

“Fine.”

“And the little one?”

Started strangling people with his strange powers.

“He’s fine. Turning out to be a fussy eater.”

Omera smiled, “It’s a phase, Winta was the same, I can show you some tricks to get him to eat if you’d like.” He only nodded so she continued, “We’ll get the barn ready to-”

“No,” He said a little harsher than he’d meant to, “We’ll camp out at the ship.”

“Really, it’s no trouble-” Insisted Omera.

“No.” He wasn’t being polite, he was just sparing himself. This place, the village, the kids playing, all brought back memories from a time before. Memories he’d actually willingly relive. The only ones he’d _like_ to have _. “_ It’s...Easier if we stay by the ship.”

Omera nodded, clearly a little disappointed and maybe a touch of something else? Understanding?

The headed into the village in silence, Mando nodding at the cheery waves from other villagers as the news of his return quickly spread through the tiny population.

Omera guided them towards the barn, Winta asked for permission to take the child to have breakfast with her. It was granted.

“Do you want something-?”

“I’m fine,” Said the Mandalorian, “Thanks.”

“That’s new,” She said, noticing the signet, as he accepted a proffered seat on deck outside the barn.

“Yes,” He agreed, knowing he should say more, but unable to bring himself to. Small talk wasn’t his forte at the best of times. Especially when it touched on things he specifically did not want to talk about, which was pretty much anything without an immediate practical necessity.

Anything that could lead into any other conversation without an immediate practical necessity.

He was relieved when his passenger came into view.

“Well?” Asked Mando as he approached the deck.

“It’s something.” She shrugged, “I think I can make it work.”

“Good.”

“How long have you two known each other?” Asked Omera, to break the silence.

“Ten hours,” The female Mandalorian answered, then turned to Mando, “Short of a decent work station, I’m going to need a few extra parts. Preferably.”

“I can send someone to the market, it’s quite well stocked.” Suggested Omera.

“It’s a good idea.” Said Mando, “Either of us would attract unwanted attention.”

“So just attention, then?”

“Basically,” He sighed.

The list was made, Omera left to pass it on with instructions, then took her leave as it was time to start working.

“What now?” Asked the female Mandalorian.

“Wait, rest,” He answered, “It’s going to be hard work.” He had an eerie feeling of déjà-vu, only this time he was playing the part of Kuil, she the skeptical, impatient Mandalorian.

At least this time he’d hadn’t just come from being half bludgeoned to death by a Mudhorn. Small comforts.

“Sleep would be nice,” She agreed, getting up from the deck and peeking into the open barn structure, “This isn’t anyone’s residence right?” She’d spotted a pile of grain bags which would make decent bedding.

A few minutes later Winta appeared with the child in tow. He went straight for Mando who settled the sleepy green bundle in his lap.

Winta nodded back shyly to Mando and crept off, leaving him with the tantilizing near-memory of how sun had once felt on his skin, unfocused eyes set on the older children playing in front of him.

He wasn’t sure when Omera had returned to her seat next to him, he’d noticed she was there just not how she got there.

“The cart’s left for the market,” She said, “Where’s your friend?”

“Sleeping,” He tilted his head toward the barn behind him.

“What’s her name?” Asked Omera, thinking it a fairly straight forward question, but upon hearing his sigh she realized that it was not the case. “Is this another rule?”

“No,” He replied, “It’s not- It’s just ...Different. Names are given, lost and earned. It’s...” He trailed off, probably a bit of a steep learning curve if the helmet was confusing.

“Anything to do with this?” She asked, pointing at his signet. She was far too perceptive. He nodded.

She smiled, leaning back on her hands, looking up at the bright sky. “It’ll be time for lunch soon, would you like me to bring you something?”

He was going to refuse, but thought better of it, since he was actually famished, “If it’s not-”

“It’s no trouble,” She said, standing up, still smiling _that_ smile as she looked back over her shoulder at him.

Coming back here was a bad idea, he’d known that from the start, but he hadn’t thought it would be quite as _sudden_. It had taken a couple of weeks to creep up to him last time, he’d thought he’d have a few days, maybe more if he kept to himself at the ship.

But here he was, every existential instinct telling him that this was the place, the kid was happy here, safe now, as safe as he would be anywhere. He could be happy here. Even if the kid did have parents out there, where ever that was, he’d been lost once already, right? Who’s to say he would be safe back there

It involved hanging everything up though, helmet included, he knew that. It was a conditional promise of happiness. Abandoning a part of his identity to be accepted. Just like he’d done before, when he’d sworn into the creed.

He suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped, like some internal form of claustrophobia, invisible walls closing in on his mind.

“Any news?” His traveling companion said as she emerged from the barn.

“Lunch is on it’s way,” He said evenly.

She took the seat next to him, wordlessly he picked up the sleeping child and (gently) dumped him in her lap as he stood up. He needed air, or something.

She didn’t ask where he was going. He was silently grateful for it, being in no fit state to think up a plausible lie.

He was sitting in the pilot’s chair of the ‘Crest, mindlessly rolling the kid’s favorite lever knob across his palms when green fingers scratched at his gloves, demanding the return of the object.

“When did you get here?” He asked, picking the kid up to sit him on his knees.

He looked around but no own else was in the cockpit. He heard a metallic clanging noise outside and looked through the glass pane. A heavy duty tarp folded around a chain was being hauled up into a tree just out of view. It wasn’t hard to guess who was setting up the rural docking facility.

The other Mandalorian was just jumping down from the branch, using her grapple line to break her fall, when he stepped out of the ship.

“That line needs maintenance,” He said automatically, it shouldn’t be making any sort of noise.

“I brought lunch,” She replied, ignoring his comment, pointed at the basket set a the foot of the hatch.

“Thanks.” He wasn’t hungry, but he knew that was psychological, not physical. He was largely running on empty at this point. He retired to force feed himself, reemerging to find all the jacking lines set up.

They both started moving anything that wasn’t bolted down out of the ship, to lighten the load, along with a few things that did require dismantling, like the armory doors, carbonizer, even the co-pilot’s seat.

“This is light as we’ll get, short of a Jawa crawler showing up.” Something Mando knew for an unfortunate fact. “We haven’t discussed the specifics of actually lifting it.”

“I’d started off with the idea of rigging the lowest engine tick-over to a lift, which I’d have to make...But since they all love you so much in these parts,” Mando couldn’t help flinching a little, internally, “I’m thinking good old man power should do the job. Four to six people on each line.”

Mando nodded his assent. It was actually a nice change to have someone else work out the details of a fix.

The most able bodied villagers had agreed to meet at the ship after their day’s work was done, meanwhile the two Mandalorian’s continued getting as much of the inside of the ship, outside.

“What the...” The woman pulled at a soft, pink piece of fabric, stuck between the inner panel and the carbonizer's framework. Able to work it loose, the item popped out into a...Hat of sorts. Covered in pop-out flowers, hearts and glitter.

“Bounty,” Mando explained, not a very interesting one, bail jumper, boring. Just had a strange fashion sense.

She nodded, dropped the hat to the side and resumed greasing bolts which had remained untouched since assembly. She turned back to reach for the hydraulic spanner, instead came face to face with the kid, wearing the hat perfectly balanced on two flat ears, face covered in glitter, she was unable not to laugh.

The sound brought Mando halfway down from the cockpit ladder, the kid looked up at him, innocence all over his sparkling face.

Mando almost choked, too used to suppressing laughter. He was forced into submission, unable to remember the last time he’d actually succumbed to hilarity.

It took over five minutes for either of them to calm down suitably to remove the kid’s new ornament and Mando make a mental note to burn it later. He tried to wipe the glitter off the child, most of it stayed where it was, the rest stubbornly fixed itself to his glove instead.

He aborted the mission, the kid could have a bath tonight instead, and so could his gloves, hopefully it would actually come off.

By the time the villagers wandered into the clearing the two adults were sitting on the ramp, watching the kid chase after tired brown butterflies. Mando noticed Omera was on the cart which was carrying a large cylinder shaped vat, probably used for semi-industrial Spotchka brewing.

“No sens in wasting the water when we purge the system,” Said the female Mandalorian, “Plus this way we can still have water on the ship, without having to lift the extra weight.”

He nodded.

“I’ll get the water sorted,” She said, getting up. He followed suit, splitting the villagers up into four groups of approximately equal strength at the end of each jacking line. They would all pull in the first instance, until the desirable ground clearance was established

He’d then fix the lines, one by one, as soon as a line was fixed they relieved personal would move to help the next line hold their weight until it was fixed. That was the plan anyway.

Unfortunately, things rarely go as planned, at least in Mando’s extensive experience. What was left of the Razor Crest’s landing appendage had sunk into the ground, probably partially wedge on protruding rocks, at an angle. So they had to find a different solution, using the engine’s own power, with considerable adjustments to avoid shredding the tarps, which would burn a _lot_ of fuel. Disconnecting the skids all together would have been an option, with a little more lift. As things stood, the access made it near impossible.

“I’m sorry this failed,” Said Omera, brushing Mando’s arm in an attempt at a consoling gesture.

“It’s...” He sighed, “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” She said softly, “You should take a break, both of you,” She added, looking over at the other Mandalorian who was sitting by the ship, staring at it as if she could have lifted it with her mind, “Come over for dinner tonight?”

“I’m going to turn in early,” He replied, trying to decline a nicely as possible, without leaving any room for maneuver, “Another time.”

“Well you’ll have to come tomorrow night,” Omera smiled, “It’s the anniversary of the village’s creation.” He nodded without thinking, “Great, I’ll see you then, if not before.”

Omera called to Winta to leave the child be and with Winta reluctantly obeying, they both made their way back to the village.

Mando looked over at his traveling companion, as she looked back at him and shrugged, “Maybe I’ll just build myself a hut here.” It was sarcasm, but it stung, just a little.

“There’s got to be a...” He trailed off, he’d caught sight of the kid’s raised hand. He was going to do the thing on the ship. “Get to the rigs!”

“What?” She asked, neither the sudden urgency nor the point of it were apparent.

“Now!”

Mando’s barking order knocked her out of her stupor as she saw the ship was starting to shake, the ground around the buried skids began to flake, and the kid was ...Doing _that?_

It didn’t last long but it was enough, they got the ship tied up, had enough, just enough, space to work on the repairs.

“That’s one hell of a Foundling,” She said as Mando put sleeping child on a pile of blankets.

“Yeah.”

* * *

The two Mandalorians had been working on the ship for a few hours, Winta had shown up bright and early to take custody of the child. Subsequently they’d drifted in and out, mostly out, of conversation.

Every time Mando built up the courage to ask her, and every time the words failed him.

Finally, having wrestled the last of the hydraulic piping loose, he decided to go for it.

“Do you….” He hesitated again, but hell, he had to ask, because he really needed this, “Could you convert an IG Unit into a nurse droid?”

“That’s...An interesting concept.” She said, pausing in her labor.

“Yeah,” He agreed, “That’s not an answer.”

“An IG Unit into a nurse droid?” She repeated, “Sure, right after I see Hutt get sworn in.”

“It’s been done,” Mando insisted, “The IG unit, I mean.”

“You hit your head recently?”

“Yeah,” He said without thinking, “The IG nurse droid is the only reason I’m still...” He trailed off because he could _feel_ her staring. “I need _something_ to help me protect the kid.”

“So Nevarro...It was a bad as it sounded?” She asked, already knowing the answer, “I was hoping it was just a distorted rumor.”

“Some...A handful, maybe, got away...” He trailed off, “The armorer was still there when I left. You could still catch her. If that’s where you were headed.”

“It was.”

They resumed their comfortable working silence.

“So..Where would you even get hold of an IG unit to mod?”

“Find one, disable it, rebuild it.” Mando shrugged, “It’s what was done last time.”

“I suppose, if I were to be handed an IG unit, there’s no reason I couldn’t refit it...” She shrugged, “Just half a dozen reasons why no one in their right minds _would_.”

“Yeah,” He sighed, “I stopped trying to apply logic to any of this a while ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me ages to get the feeling of this right, I'm still not entirely satisfied, but I'd rather move forwards before I start a re-edit. Hope it was readable anyway!


	4. The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, this hopefully clears up some of the earlier glaring discrepancies, which somehow fit into place by complete and utter accident.

It had taken almost a week to adapt the legs of the defunct AT-ST into reasonable, if not rather nice looking, landing gear for the Razor Crest. While it wasn’t quite all work and no play, at least not by Mando standard, the Villagers’ laid back ways having a nasty tendency to rub off on any nearby guests, the work days had been long.

After a lengthy farewell from the villagers on Sorgan, consisting of more than one crying child, they had taken off.

Mando was in the cockpit with the child, meanwhile his passenger paced up and down restlessly on the lower deck; absently fingers a thick coin between her fingers. She stopped, looking up at the dismal ceiling, sighing at a couple of loose wires which should not be loose, but found no answer to her silent question.

She looked down at the coin in her hand, as if seeing it for the first time. The reflection of her helmet was distorted by the Mythosaur skull symbol stamped into the Beskar. She sighed inwardly, flipping the coin over. On the other side, a toothy Acklay grinned sinisterly at her.

Maybe she should just flip for it? Save herself the decision making. Leave it to chance.

She ran her gloved thumb over the engraving of the Mythosaur. _Yeah,_ She thought, _Heads, follow the rules, do the decent thing, walk away...Fail the mission._

Her hand flipped the coin over, without her brain’s consent, _Tails… Just follow a genetic predisposition for behind a selfish, backstabbing arsehole._

A green twitch, just above the ridge of the coin, caught her eye.

The kid.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t possibly know what was going on in her head...And yet the way his eyes were fixed on her visor said otherwise.

She crouched down to his level, keeping eye contact all the while.

_Shit._

She shoved the coin back into the pocket behind her chestplate.

“You know what?” She held her finger out towards the kid, who mirrored the gesture, “You’re gonna stay right where you are.”

She insisted on being dropped off at the nearest space station with steady traffic enough to secure a quick ship out. Djarin was a little put out, maybe even disappointed, by her sudden rush, but complied.

The second the child and the Mandalorian were back in orbit, out of her reach, she felt a weight had been lifted. Whatever was next…. There was little she could do about it now.

* * *

Dust, ruined, brittle structures, looked like the next gust of wind would put the struggling walls out of their misery. Hopefully crushing the bored Stormtroopers lounging about in the shade underneath.

_Feels just like home._

One of them looked up, noticed, turned back to his colleagues hoping one of them would notice and take the lead instead. No luck, clearly he was the worst at being useless.

The four of them eventually got up, reluctantly leaving their shady corner behind, moving to stand in the intruder's path.

“State your business.” Ordered the most observant man around, his attempt at sounding both confident and officious were half hearted. He just wanted to get through the day alive. Part of that resolution involved staying the hell away from anything remotely resembling a Mandalorian.

And then one just shows up.

“I’m here to see your boss.”

“No,” Replied the Stormtrooper, “You have to be announced first.”

The Mandalorian’s head tilted to the side, the troopers all flinched slightly. They’d never seen it, but they’d heard stories about all the gadgets and weapons. That a slight, seemingly harmless movement could unleash a world of pain and death.

It probably hadn’t gone unnoticed either.

“So? Announce me.”

“No. No way. It’s a bad time, the Boss will kill me.” He’d been around long enough to get to know the Moff, and so far had stayed well below the radar. A safe place he meant to keep.

“And if you don’t, _I’ll_ kill you.”

So much for that, he thought as they reached that painfully awkward moment when everyone draws their blasters.

“Be reasonable, it’s four against one,” He had that. That was an advantage, right?

“It does seem unfair.” She paused, “Should I wait for you to call reinforcement?”

The Stormtrooper was about to respond, he didn’t quite know what, but he would have found something had he not felt the sting of blaster fire rip through his chest, and fallen lifeless to the floor.

The other three turned stupidly to look behind them.

“Get back to your stations,” Ordered Moff Gideon, they were only too happy to be allowed to scuttle off with their lives, the Moff then turned to the Mandalorian, “Late _and_ empty handed? I am disappointed, Rea.”

She winced internally at her name, but wasn’t going to let it show, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“There were complications.” Rea shrugged, it was stupid provocation, Moff Gideon didn’t like insubordination, but he also found it more entertaining that groveling. The groveling underlings always got themselves killed. He liked breaking people, broken people were boring.

“Your device didn’t work?” Asked Moff Gideon, with an edge to his voice which made it clear he already knew the answer, he was just sounding her out, playing with her, trying to catch her out in a lie.

“It did.”

“Where is it?”

Rea wondered if she’d actually get to lie to him about why she’d failed to bring him the child, or if she’d get to call it, and her life, a day. “I destroyed it.” She waited a beat, he gave no apparent reaction. She was getting tired of his game. Get it over with.

 _Well at this point, may as well give him a poke,_ “You taught me that learning from your own mistakes was good, learning from other people’s was bet-”

“Yes, I recall.” He snapped, she allowed herself a private smirk. “Everything went to plan, Din Djarin took the bait, tell me, how exactly did you come to fail?”

“The child is stronger than-”

“You have adequate training.” He interrupted her, Gideon’s hand were tense, clearly fighting an urgent homicidal need. “You will go back-”

“No.”

An unpleasant smile curled across the man’s face, a much more terrifying expression than any amount of creased brows and snarls, “I see. I spend over a decade remedying the idiotic conditioning of your people, and after one week with another you revert back to type? That is disappointing.”

Rea couldn’t help but clench her fists, he noticed, she inwardly cursed herself.

“Lucky for you, I have another job for you,” She caught the information puck he threw her way, “Do not disappoint me again.”

As Moff Gideon left, she felt chilled to the bone, despite the sun’s heat beating off the desert floor, something was off. It shouldn’t have been that easy. She must have given him something that made her worth something alive, something she hadn’t meant to.

* * *

After careful research and planning, Rea had pinpointed the best place and time to take care of the target assigned to her by Moff Gideon. The target was high profile in politics, hard to approach on any front in his regular, safe circle of life.

Luckily, like most men of wealth and power, he was rotten to the core and riddled with vices that could not be sated unless he left his cosy pod lifestyle and ventured out into the nastier parts of the galaxy.

She’d got a free lift with a dodgy crew of part time mercs part time smugglers. Just had to lend them a hand with security on arrival. On the bright side, she had her own, tiny, quarters. On the downside, the bed was already occupied by thousand of tiny lifeforms, so she was going to have to sleep on what little floor wasn’t taken up by it.

She was giving her riffle and extra once over, on top of the routine maintenance, just because she had nothing else to do and no inclination to socialize with the crew on board. The incoming coms alert on her helmet almost had her drop the pristine scope. Coms shouldn’t have been a thing, she’d disabled them _years_ ago.

The sensible thing to do would have been to ignore it, then find out why the hell she had an active line. Instead, for reasons unknown even to herself, she answered it.

The voice on the other end had a fair bit of static, and sounded surprised, “I didn’t think that would work.”

“Djarin?” She asked, utterly confused.

“Yeah,”He paused, thinking about what to say, since he hadn’t planned on getting through, “You must have paired up with the ‘Crest during repairs. The line’s still there, I spotted it earlier, didn’t think it would get through.”

Oh that made sense, she’d forgotten to to delete the connection. “Bored to the stage of pressing deactivated switches on the dash? Nice.” Said Rea, she heard what might have been a short laugh, might have just been static.

“Long journey.”

“Same.” She sighed, “Got lots of company though, you don’t want to look at that bed through a visor mod...”

“Didn’t hail a cruiser then?”

“Mercs,” She shrugged, pointlessly, “It’s a free ride in exchange for help with an easy job...Hell after I get paid for the point of the trip I’m going to book a luxury suite. Or at least one with running hot water.”

It briefly occurred to her that this was a bad idea, that she shouldn’t be making conversation, that she should make an excuse, any excuse, and close the line, forever.

“Thermostatic mixer rain shower with adjustable body jets.” He said wistfully.

“Hm, yeah, talk dirty to me.” She joked, although she was honestly fantasizing about a such a heavenly shower.

“Yeah? What are you wearing?” The sarcasm filtered through the static.

Rea laughed out loud.

Yeah, this was a really bad idea, but it would be fine. As long as she didn’t make contact.

How could a harmless conversation, or several harmless conversations, possibly cause any trouble?

It couldn’t.

It wouldn’t.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorely tempted to write a sequel. I wasn't expecting this to get away from the it did.


End file.
